Her
She calls out to me
Through mist and air
This steely siren across the sea
Holds more truth than I have known
She looked at the everyday and chose the lonely way
Listened to others for a while
And traveled that tired old road
But artists are bad drivers
They make lousy connivers
And really shitty strivers
Artists are born
They are not made
And won’t survive in office shade
So she found a path off that grim road
She knows it’s rough with rock and bone
And she will stumble
And she will fall
But I know stumble
And I know fall
I’ll pick her up and dust her quick
And when my minds in panic mode
She’ll hold my hand
And whisper deep
It’s not real my love, just listen to my voice
That’s our deal
All wounds shown and opened
So each can bleed to each
Then sit and watch as she creates
And in silence she will paint
And find the magic in the cracks of life
This grounded girl who lives outside
She calls out to me
Through mist and air
This steely siren across the sea
I feel her pull, I feel her beat
Silence will be our fireworks
Mud and stone our throne
Our vows will be alone
She is fierce and loyal
Her blue eyes would cut you to the bone
Her rare beauty born inside
She is tough and kind
She calls out to me
Through mist and air
This steely siren across the sea
So close now my Celtic soul can feel her warm breath


“Artists are born, they are not made” hit hard. This whole piece feels fierce, loyal, and achingly intimate. Beautiful work. 🖤✨
Silence will be our fireworks. I really like that line and it can be so true. Great post, John.